


Make It Harder To Breathe

by themunak



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themunak/pseuds/themunak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaun is not the touchy-feely type, but he allows Clay to do as he pleases-- and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Harder To Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Shaun was rescued by Rebecca on December 10, 2010. Clay got captured by Abstergo on February 1, 2011.
> 
> If the AC wiki is accurate, this means they could have met during the small window of time between the two dates.

In any sort of establishment, company or area, it's only natural that the new person becomes the talk of the town. Shaun hates it with a passion, but some humans are just gossipers by nature. He'll be lucky if he manages to get away without suffering the stares of his new colleagues that are his colleagues as much as a mongoose and a snake are friends.

Rebecca is the only one he can stand in this huge mess of an "order".

Clay is the only one he willingly talks to.

While the woman saved his life, the man is akin to a godsend. His wildly sarcastic nature tells Shaun that there's still some hope of keeping his sanity intact with the Assassins. His smart mind tells Shaun that there's some spark of intelligence amongst the babble of lesser humans. Annoying as he is at times, Shaun cant deny that the man is a good conversationalist and has quite a lot of thoughts happening in his head.

Besides, he owes the man some form of camaraderie for saving him from their curious peers by saying that he would "read the novice the riot act".

He didn't actually do it. Instead, he introduced himself like a civilized person and they talked like civilized people.

Needless to say, Shaun was taken with him from day one the same way an idiotic teenager was taken with some tall and dark bloke whose handsomeness was very debatable. Except that he doesn't feel the need to write in absolutely horrible purple prose or do inane things to show how much he appreciates the company when he can get them.

\----------

"You've got far too much stuff going on in your head," Clay says on their last meeting before he goes off on his long-term assignment to infiltrate Abstergo's base in Italy (oh, and how jealous Shaun is of that, if he isn't still trying not to piss his trousers at the memory of his kidnapping).

"And you say that like it's such a bad thing. Like-- like I'm not supposed to be thinking or else Bill will swoop down and pull my brains out of my arse."

Clay chuckles and throws an arm over Shaun's shoulders. In the very, very short time they've known each other, it's interesting to see just how close they have grown. Shaun is not the touchy-feely type, but he allows Clay to do as he pleases-- and then some.

It's a simple matter, really. Two blokes in a secret organization have needs and while they can satisfy those with women, fulfillment can be found in men as well, and Shaun has never been bothered about the gender of the person he's currently in bed with. And while Rebecca is undoubtedly a women if but in body, Shaun finds it awkward to even think of sleeping with her, and there's only one other person whom he trusts in the Brotherhood even after being around for about a month.

Besides, to say that Clay is "not bad" in bed is like saying Big Ben is just a bell behind a clock. Lots of clocks have chimes and bells, but none of them are Big Ben. Likewise, males have cocks (and sometimes are cocks themselves), but none of them are Clay Kaczmarek.

"A kiss before I go?" And suddenly, Clay's mouth is a little too close to his ear.

"What am I, your wife? Go find a woman if you're in dire need of some kiss." Yet Shaun makes no move to push him away. Instead, he continues to ignore his regular partner in favor of going through any mail he may have received on his phone.

"How about a fuck, then?"

With the way Clay kisses the shell of his ear, full of promise of a good night's buggering before losing him for an indeterminate amount of time, it's really hard for Shaun to say no.

In fact, he doesn't. He just puts his phone and glasses away on his beside table to let Clay take him to bed.

Clay fucks like he thinks every session should be something different. Last time, it was hard, fast and sudden, an ambush (premeditated, apparently, from the hints being dropped before the event itself) in the shower that tested Shaun's ability to control the noises he made lest someone heard them. He doesn't know what exactly Clay has in mind, but from the way he's slowly divesting Shaun of his clothing, grey vest being the first victim, he may be in for something that can last the whole night.

(Secretly Shaun hopes that he wont be able to walk tomorrow. That always signifies a good night.)

Shaun feels Clay rub at the growing hair at his chin, and Shaun shoots him an annoyed look, but all the Yank does is grin. "Scruffy's a good look for you. You should keep it."

"Are you here to comment on my physical appearance, or are you going to fuck me?" Shaun scoffs.

"Who says I cant do both?" At that, Clay manages to get all of Shaun's buttons undone and sinks teeth into that meaty part just underneath a collarbone. Shaun hisses, just shy of swearing, and arcs up despite himself. From the sensation that Clay leaves, there's sure to be a bite by tomorrow. Thankfully he honors their rule to leave no marks in obvious places, but Shaun will have to return the favour.

He digs his fingers into the back of his partner's neck, but his nails aren't quite long enough to make more than a few shallow dents into skin, so leaving long red scratches to irritate Clay for a few days is out of the question. So instead, he settles on trying to give the man as many bruises as he can, so later he can imagine the annoyed look on Clay's face when finds the very act of trying to relax on the job uncomfortable.

Shaun pushes up, trying to shove Clay onto his back, but true to the man's form, a slight historian and conspiracy theorist really has nothing on him that can help move someone who has years of Assassin training behind him. He'd have made a mental note to try and work out some, but Clay wedges a knee right between his legs and very, very close to his genitals and halts his train of thought rather effectively.

His prick jumps like Pavlov's bloody dog at the proximity. He wants to yell at it for being so eager, because _really_ \-- they haven't even touched properly yet.

Clay is laughing at him for the reaction. Shaun hits him with a balled fist and tells him to get it over with.

Clay calls him a princess. Shaun sneers and drags him in for a biting kiss that should tell the Yank there's something more for him if he does something _now_.

The rest of their clothes are made quick work of and Shaun gets the chance to roam his hands across a body he wont be seeing in a while-- months, maybe years, if the infiltration assignment stretches that long.

"Stop thinking," Clay says and rubs his thigh against Shaun's prick.

"Make me," Shaun replies, and is embarrassed at himself for sounding so breathless.

Clay's way of shutting Shaun's thought processes down completely apparently involves a lot of groping, licking, and filthy _filthy_ words in his ear. While Shaun is no fan of listening to sex-induced babble, he finds himself responding like a porn star when Clay describes in such explicit detail just how he will reduce Shaun into an incoherent mess before the night is over-- a blowjob, fingers in his arse, maybe orgasm control thrown in there-- _fuck_.

Shaun has enough control not to come just because he's had pretty words in his ear. He's also not the type to stay still and think of England, and he proves it (to himself, to Clay) by grabbing Clay's dick and roughly pulling on it as if it's not part of a man at all.

Clay apparently sees fit to retaliate by sticking two well-slicked fingers up into his arse without warning (and when the hell did he get that lube?), and Shaun cant help but clamp down on the sudden intrusion and forget that he's supposed to be jerking Clay off.

But Clay's not deterred, of course not. Shaun can feel him as he pushes right in without much preamble and even stretching him open, leaving Shaun to have to relax his muscles in order to lessen the burn. And it's not _easy_ to do so, not when he's still trying to even the odds between them. Especially not when Clay rubs against his prostate and makes him forget his fucking manners and just shove his aching prick up in the air to demand more attention.

And of course Clay gives it to him. He gives him the attention he so demands by making good on his promise of a blowjob.

At the first touch of lips to the head of his dick, Shaun's properly winded, but by the time Clay gets a good deal of prick in his mouth, what little thought process he has left shifts from "don't come" to "must come _now_ " and his body moves accordingly. He shifts around, trying to find the best angle for both getting his cock deeper into Clay's mouth and Clay's fingers deeper into his arse. It's not easy but fuck if he will stop when he's so close to--

Shaun grasps the sheets in an attempt not to do Clay grievous bodily harm for squeezing the base of his cock and preventing that potentially glorious dive over the edge because _fuck_ that really would have been glorious and Shaun would have _loved_ it.

So he's hard and aching and it's not even remotely funny because it's just this side of painful. Moreso when Clay leaves it alone in favor of touching and kissing him elsewhere but _there._ Having things shoved up his arse is good and all, but Shaun dearly wants something on his dick before he does something like beg.

When he demands as much as he can with vocal chords that don't seem to be working properly, Clay just laughs at him, withdraws his fingers and prods his crack with something significantly thicker and covered in a condom. And-- well. Shaun thinks that's an acceptable substitute as he bats Clay's hands away from his knees and spreads his legs and hooks them around Clay's knees on his own, without help, _thank you_.

Oh, and it's so good how Clay feels when he's pushing right inside him. It always does despite the burn, and Shaun's going to savour this as much as he can because he wont be having this for a very long time. Wont have _Clay_ for a very long time. And that's a bloody shame because Shaun's possibly ruined for others because of just how amazing every tryst of theirs is.

Shaun grasps the globes of Clay's arse as he gets fucked slowly, feeling just how the gluteal muscles flex with every long, powerful thrust. Feeling just how much strength Clay has down here (and really, not surprising) just by feeling how those buttocks fill his palms, and Shaun probably croons at the sensation. It's not an ideal position because while Shaun may be flexible, he's not so flexible that he can do more than just clutch at buttcheeks and try to squeeze, but the way Clay groans in his ear and starts snapping his hips a little harder lets him know that his efforts are appreciated very , _very_ much.

It's just a little something from him to Clay, especially since Shaun _really_ appreciates that big fat cock inside him rubbing against all sorts of interesting places every time hips slap against his naked bum.

No sarcasm there. It's just fucking _amazing_ how every movement manages to get him jerking back and forth along with the rhythm and wanting for more. 

So it seems too quick yet just right when that man and his prick force Shaun over the edge and send him tumbling right down instead of that graceful dive he could have had earlier. Too quick because it's rather embarrassing how quickly he reached the end, and he wants to have _more_ till he's well and truly fucked and unable to even get out of his bed come morning, but at the same time just right because his own cock finally gets some relief, even if that relief means making a huge mess all over his stomach, mixing in with their combined sweat, and not even having a hand on his prick the whole time.

Shaun groans when he manages to regain enough of himself to feel oversensitive and overused because the Yank is still not _done_ and despite his wishes and the truly amazing sex, he's not a teenager capable of getting it up in a matter of seconds.

He clutches Clay's shoulder, the other hand falling limp against the now-rumpled bedspread, and tries to remember how to clench.

"Fuck!"

He stifles a yelp as Clay snaps his hips one more time against his sore arse and goes completely still, and he knows he's successful.

Clay never stays in him too long because of Shaun complaining about the sensitivity of his arse after their first few sessions together. It's different now, because he's most definitely lingering, yet Shaun's not shoving at him or telling him to move. Instead, they're kissing luxuriously and he doesn't know who started it, but he's feeling too boneless to bother telling him off for this one slip-up.

When they break off, Clay rests his forehead against his own, and Shaun can feel his wet bangs against his skin. "I'll get you a snow globe for a souvenir."

"Not your bloody wife," Shaun manages to grunt out as Clay finally pulls out and makes himself comfortable at Shaun's side.

Shaun is not the touchy-feely type. He doesn't bother cuddling or spooning or whatever the masses are calling it these days. Clay does though, and no amount of whinging can save him from being used as a body pillow till the next round.

And by god, he _will_ make sure there's another round or two before Clay leaves.

\----------

Shaun is one of the few who attend the funeral. In the world of Assassins, death is simply part of their lives. Those on the field are well-made killing machines, and those behind their desks, those like him who dictate their movements, the leashes of these death dealers.

Those who die will be lucky to even have a funeral. Clay is one of the lucky ones, and yet not lucky that he'd died the way he did. Alone, and stark raving mad. He's not lucky because he was used for what was in his genetic make-up for over a year and then thrown into the Tiber like yesterday's garbage.

He's not lucky because hardly anyone seems to give a damn about him despite his accomplishments before he let Abstergo get its damned claws on him. Not even William. All they remember of him is that he went mad and started painting on the walls with his own blood.

Shaun himself will probably die alone as well, either by his own hand or a wrong step or a Templar bullet through his skull. And before that, he'll be witness to countless other deaths of the field agents he directs, listening to their cries over the line that he cant turn off or else miss something important. That it may have been because of a mistake he'd made. That either Bill or Rebecca or some other bastard will pat him on the shoulder and tell him that he did all he possibly could, then expect him to move onto the next team.

Shaun hates that this is his life.


End file.
